


Three Nights That Matt Murdock Did Not Sleep and One Night That He Did

by coffeeandfeathers



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: 3+1 Things, Childhood Trauma, Foggy Tries to Help, I can't keep him awake for five days it just isn't fair, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Matt can't sleep, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Plus it's not like Foggy wouldn't notice for that long he's too good, Post Season 1, Sleep Deprivation, Sleeping Together, Stick is the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-19 15:21:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4751240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandfeathers/pseuds/coffeeandfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt's always had trouble sleeping, especially after Stick left. After Fisk is put away, Matt finds himself compulsively patrolling and leaving little time to struggle with his nightmares. Foggy notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first night, Matt awoke at 5am to his elbows hitting the bedroom floor. His spine followed soon after, then his hips, until one leg—still tangled in the bedsheets—slowed the assent and dragged him painfully against the bedframe. He’d slept one hour and sixteen minutes.

This was becoming an increasingly common occurrence, the ritual of crashing into and out of bed. He got up at seven, hauled his sore body into the kitchen, then the bathroom, then down ten city blocks to the office, then back, then across the entirety of Hell’s Kitchen until he could finally shed his costume and curl up under his sheets to die for a short interval before beginning again. On a good day, one where his injuries were minimal, Matt got six hours of relatively sound sleep. On a bad day, he might go into the office on two shots of espresso and a prayer. Either way, he was making it. His brain listened to what his body needed and did its best to acquiesce. Until that first night he couldn’t sleep.

**-**

Matt was no stranger to bad dreams. He’d never slept well as a kid, especially on the nights when his dad was fighting, and after the accident he’d lie awake in bed and listen to ambulances until the sun started to rise. He was ten. There would be plenty of time to sleep when he was older.

Matt got older. Battlin’ Jack Murdock did not.

When his father was alive, Matt had never been afraid of falling asleep. Sure, it was inconvenient and occasionally frustrating when he was trying to stay awake, but he’d never felt fear at the thought of sleep. This came later.

Stick stayed with him for a year and a half. In addition to martial arts and how not to cry, Matt learned that sleep was dangerous. Exhaustion was his body controlling his brain, yawning was worthy of a cane to the backs of his knees. Curling up on the floor after hours of sparring and refusing to get up merited a kick to the belly and the slow pain of being dragged up by his hair. Being tired meant getting hurt, losing the upper hand or worse.

“You’re not tired,” Stick would say with one hand around Matt’s throat, the other still full of his hair. “You’re weak. Now stand and fight.”

At twelve years old, Matt barely made it onto the average weight chart for a boy two inches shorter than him. He curled up inside donated sweatshirts to hide his bruises and wouldn’t speak unless spoken to by a superior. He slept four hours on the nights Stick came into his room, and less on the nights that he didn’t. Stick always seemed to know when Matt was relaxing, getting used to being left alone to rest, and those were the nights he showed up. Matt could pretend to sleep, but he couldn’t control his heartbeat.

Before Stick left, Matt fell into a routine. Sleep in the bathroom at school during lunch, stay awake until two or three waiting for Stick to show up. If he didn’t, Matt couldn't sleep. If he did, Matt could. The lights in the orphanage went out at nine thirty. If he was lucky, Stick would show before midnight and squeeze only a few new bruises onto Matt’s legs and arms and throat. This was not a request.

Stick left. Matt slept. He gained twenty healthy pounds despite the fact that everything inside him was twisted up and rotten. Nerve by nerve, he started to uncoil. Sometimes he’d go into the basement where they practiced and meditate, searching the room for Stick’s scent. All he could smell was his own sweat.

In high school, Matt slept under the pews in the chapel. He slept in the attic and the library and the warm rectory on nights when the priests were gone. He could not sleep in his own bed. Going off to college didn’t help much. He played musical beds as much as possible, chasing off bad dreams with a warm body next to him. And then he met Foggy.

Foggy slept with more intensity than anyone Matt had ever met. For the first month, Matt loathed him. He hated Foggy’s snoring, how the room always smelled like a discordant mix of Cheetos and weed and Budweiser, how he could lie awake for hours when it only took Foggy ten minutes at the most to fall asleep. Matt shouldn’t have wanted to rest so badly, but he did.

Foggy had friends. Foggy was smart and funny and went out to bars and parties while Matt rotted in the library with a bellyful of black coffee and Adderall. Foggy kept normal hours and took care of himself and Matt couldn’t help but resent him for it. None of this was Foggy’s fault, of course, and he’d always been kind and accommodating, but there was something about living with someone healthy that made Matt sick with jealousy.

One night after thirty-two solid hours of classes and studying, Matt stumbled back into the dorms at midnight and slept for twenty-nine minutes before his dreams started. Even now, a decade since Stick left, Matt’s body was still ready to jump awake at the slightest sound. It was somehow so much worse being dragged from sleep by Stick’s rough hands than lying awake and waiting for them. After the hands stopped coming, however, his body twisted the expectation into nightmares. Matt was too old to be diagnosed with night terrors, far too old to even let them bother him, but that didn’t mean they left with Stick.

The content of the dreams was simple. He was ten or eleven, always in the orphanage or the chapel or maybe in the basement. Sometimes he was naked. He couldn’t hear anything, could barely make out the smell of candles or sweat, and before he could get his bearings, Stick entered.

Sometimes they’d spar. Sometimes Stick would pin him to the floor and sink his teeth into Matt’s chest. Regardless, Matt never won. He couldn’t stay asleep long enough to fight back.

“Buddy?” Someone was speaking in the background and Matt felt a hand on his back as he was dragged from the dream and slammed into the dorm, gasping for breath.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” This voice wasn’t Stick’s and Matt’s brain raced feverishly before he recognized it.

“You were having a nightmare,” Foggy said from his place next to Matt’s bed. “I came in and you were yelling in your sleep.”

Matt caught his breath, humiliated. “I was?”

“Yeah. You’re okay, though. It wasn’t real. I hope you don’t mind that I woke you up.”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, dude. Everyone has ‘em. My little sister used to have night terrors when she was a kid.” Foggy’s hand traced Matt’s spine and shoulders, rubbing in smooth lines. “My mom would rub her back to help her go back to sleep. You want me to stay here for a minute?”

“No, it’s okay.” Matt’s heart was still in his throat, tangled in his vocal chords. Why was Foggy doing this? Did he really look that pathetic? “Go to bed.”

“Okay, I’ll be here if you need anything.”

Matt’s stomach clenched. Foggy didn’t owe him anything. Why would he offer comfort? He listened to Foggy settle into his own bed and after a few minutes, start snoring. He should get up and study. It wasn’t like he was going to get back to sleep anytime soon. But Foggy’s snoring was starting to sound more and more like white noise and before Matt knew it, his eyes were becoming increasingly difficult to hold open. _I'll just meditate_ was his last conscious thought before he slipped back to sleep. And this time, it was dreamless.

“Hey, sleeping beauty? You okay?” Matt’s skin was starting to wake up one patch at a time. First, his back became aware of the silk sheets and comforter tangled around him, then his mouth and the obvious wetness under his cheek. He opened his eyes and rolled over, listening to his muscles stretch.

“Hmmm?” He yawned, kneading both eyes with the heels of his hands.

“You’ve been out for a while. Thought you were getting sick or something.” Foggy was sitting at his desk, computer humming quietly next to him. A thread of panic flared in Matt’s stomach.

“What time is it?”

“Two. Saturday afternoon.”

“What?!” Matt tried to get out of bed, but his legs weren’t quite awake yet and he ended up in a heap on the carpet.

“I passed out around one I think. Dunno if you got back to sleep after your nightmare, but when I got up this morning you were still dead to the world. Figured I’d let you sleep but you’ve never gone this long before. You must have been exhausted.”

“No, no.” Matt was trying desperately to untangle his legs from the sheets. “I’m okay. You should have woken me up.”

Foggy’s laugh was hollow. “I’ve seen maybe twenty minutes of you in the last three days and I know you’ve been living in the library. Like hell was I going to get you up after all that.”

“I’m fine. I should to be studying.”

“It’s Saturday. The only thing you _should_ be doing is getting breakfast with me.”

“Isn’t it two?”

“Never too late for breakfast. Plus a protein bar and Adderall does not a meal make. We’re gonna get some pancakes into you.”

“Foggy…”

“Don’t ‘Foggy’ me. There’s this great diner down the street that makes this incredible sausage. Come with me. Please?” Matt didn’t have to see to know that Foggy was making puppy eyes at him. His stomach growled as if on cue.

“Fine. But then we study?”

“Then we study.” He could hear the grin in Foggy’s voice.

They didn’t study. The diner was warm and quiet and Matt couldn’t remember the last time he’d sat down and eaten something that he hadn’t chased with gritty black coffee. He nursed a mug of green tea instead, listening to Foggy talk, and when their food came, he savored every bite.

“Feel better?” Foggy asked once they’d paid and Matt swallowed the taste of syrup. This was the first time in a long time that he’d eaten until his stomach hurt from being too full. It felt… good.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, dude. You look like a skeleton in a button down.”

-

 **  
** God, he wished he had Foggy now. They hadn’t lived together since their internship at Landman and Zack, but Matt had gotten used to being shaken out of nightmares by his friend. Living alone was less conducive to a good night’s sleep. Most of the time he could meditate himself back into relaxation, but not tonight. Tonight he had slept for an hour and sixteen minutes and that was all he was going to get. He untangled his legs from the sheets-- wincing against the rug burn on his chest-- and dragged himself to his desk. Better get to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy is understandably concerned. Matt isn't. This one's a little meaner.

“Long night, buddy?”

“Mm.” Matt had slept less than seven hours of the last forty eight. Foggy’s voice was like a jackhammer in both ears.

“You look a little tired.”

“I feel a little tired.”

“Is it because of…” Foggy lowered his voice even though Karen wouldn’t be arriving in the office for another ten minutes. “You know what?”

“No. Just couldn’t get to sleep, that’s all.” He didn’t mention that he’d been out until four patrolling with only a couple of bruised ribs and a headache to show for it. Better to keep Foggy from worrying.

“Understandable. It’s been a rough week.” It had. In addition to his late night sweeps of the city, Matt was elbow deep in an arson case that made him sicker with each passing interview. The family of five that lived in the house were immigrants from Argentina and their front door had been defaced with slurs a week before the fire. One of the kids was still in the hospital and Foggy had been haggling with the insurance company for three solid days.

“Any luck with Patterson?” Matt asked before sloping into his office and hiding a yawn behind his hand.

“Different day, same bullshit. His kid’s racist fingerprints are all over this and he still won’t meet up.”

“Hm.” Foggy’s voice snaked like a rope of molasses between his ears, tangling in the middle. God, his head hurt. “Can we request a warrant for the kid’s apartment?”

“Only the cops can do that. I’ll ask Brett, but we need probable cause.”

“Patterson’s kid is a shitbird. That’s probable cause.”

Foggy laughed. “I don’t think he’ll buy it.”

Matt snorted, shuffled some paperwork. “Try anyway.”

“You sure you’re okay? You sound like hell.”

“Just a headache.”

“You want a cup of coffee? Wake you up a little?”

Matt yawned again. “Yes, please.” Foggy didn’t need to know this would be his fourth in as many hours. His heart rate was already spiking from the caffeine, but another cup wouldn’t hurt.  Might take his headache away too.

“Matt?” He couldn’t remember when he’d put his head down on his desk, but it couldn’t have been long. “Matty? You okay in there? Karen and I are going to lunch.”

“Hm?”

“Can I come in?” Without waiting for an answer, Foggy opened the door to Matt’s office. “Did you fall asleep?”

“No.” Matt wasn’t entirely sure.

“There’s ink on your face. Left side.”

Matt swiped at his cheek, flushing. “Thanks.”

“I can bring you something back if you’d rather stay here. Lie on the couch in my office if you want.”

“I’m okay. Not hungry.”

“So the mildest pad thai I can find with coconut rice.”

Matt paused. Foggy knew him well enough to let him go without eating. “Yeah. You’re the best.”

“Don’t I know it! Get some rest, okay? We’ll be back soon.”

“Okay.”

Matt waited until the office door closed and Karen and Foggy’s voices disappeared down the stairs before putting his head down again. The pressure against his forehead drove the pounding ache towards the back of his skull and he clasped both hands against his neck. _Don’t go to sleep. Don’t go to sleep._

Age eleven. Matt could sleep in pretty much any position that wasn’t horizontal. He curled up in the bathroom stalls at school, knees tucked up to his chin, saving his energy for sparring that evening instead of running around outside with the other kids. Exerting himself beyond the bare minimum would mean that an hour of work would feel like two, and if he disappointed Stick, he wouldn’t be allowed to do his homework until midnight. He wished he was in the rectory or the chapel or at the kitchen table in his father’s apartment. He wished his legs would stop cramping.

“Get up.”

“You’re hurting me!”

“Then make me stop.”

Matt wrenched his wrist from its socket, pulled it from Stick’s grasp. The old man didn’t even blink, just crouched over Matt and held the back of his neck so he couldn’t get up from his prone position on the basement floor.

“Wrong. You disabled yourself. You’re gonna pop your wrist back in when I’ve got the upper hand? Or are you gonna fight with one arm?”

“Neither.” Matt rolled onto his back and caught Stick flush in the throat with his dislocated hand. Stick’s grunt of surprise was almost worth the audible shattering of two carpels.

“Matt? We’re back!” He hadn’t looked up from the files in front of him in almost an hour and barely noticed Foggy bursting into his office, a plastic bag crinkling as he closed the door.

“Hi.”

“Got you some roti too. Figured you could use the extra carbs.”

“Thanks, Foggy.”

“Have you been working this whole time?”

 _It took me twenty minutes to lift my head from my desk._ “Not the whole time.”

“You took me up on the couch offer?” Foggy sounded surprised, even a little hopeful.

“Yeah,” Matt lied. “You wanna grab my wallet? It’s in my coat pocket.”

“Forget it, buddy. My treat. You’ve been working a ton lately.”

“So have you.”

“Not the same thing. You get here at like six in the morning, makin’ the rest of us look bad.” Foggy was in a good mood, Matt noted. His heartbeat was a little quick from walking up the stairs and probably from being around Karen by himself too. Matt’s own heart felt like it was pumping raw sewage instead of blood. He shrugged.

“You’re really quiet. Like, quieter than usual. Everything okay?”

“Just tired, that’s all.”

“Mhm.” Foggy didn’t sound convinced. “That’s all? C’mon Matt, I know you way better than this. Something’s up. Talk to me.” Foggy sat down on the corner of the desk.

“Just nightmares.”

“Like the ones you used to have at school? They’re keeping you up?”

“A little. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

“We’re talking about the same nightmares, right? The ones you woke up _screaming_ from?”

“I’m fine, Foggy. Drop it.”

“Matt…”

“Drop it.”

Foggy sighed, frustrated. “Fine. Whatever. Wallow. Fester. I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks.” It wasn’t sincere and Matt heard Foggy’s pulse jump as he left the room, closing the door behind him. Matt didn’t leave his office until ten.

 _Patrols. Just do patrols until you’re tired_ , he told himself as he peeled off his suit and slipped into the Daredevil costume. _Just keep going until you sleep. You have to sleep sometime._

The longest he’d gone was five days. He was twelve and scared and Stick wanted him to practice sleep deprivation as a way to withstand torture.

“If you’re captured, they won’t let you sleep.” Stick was particularly vague on who “they” were but Matt was pretty sure he’d rather die than encounter them. “If you need to sleep every sixteen hours, you won’t last long.” Stick must’ve known about Matt’s late night vigils, how he waited for Stick until the sun rose. He must’ve known how long Matt could go and he pushed him anyway.

Lights out in the orphanage was particularly hard. Matt sat up in bed fully dressed, listening to the even breaths of the kids down the hall. _I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to sleep._

He needed to sleep. Stick fetched him at three, bringing him down into the basement instead of staying in his room. Matt couldn’t remember a time when he’d emerged more bruised. He curled up in his sweatshirt at school, praying that no one could see the fresh handprint wrapped around his throat. This continued for four more nights until Matt collapsed into his bed after school and slept for forty eight minutes until he was dragged out of bed by his shirt collar.

“Disappointing.” Stick spat in his face and Matt said nothing as the warm saliva dripped down his cheek.

This time, the suit protected him. He’d been trailing a prominent drug dealer for almost a month and as the underlings got picked off, the fights got harder. For all the grime of peddling heroin, at least the bastard kept his cards close to his chest.

Matt worked through three members of the ring before he got what he wanted and by that time, the suit felt more like deadweight than protection. It was almost two in the morning when he finally got back to his apartment, nursing a dozen minor injuries on top of his sore ribs. At least he wouldn’t have to wake Claire.

His sheets had never felt so luxurious before that moment. Matt sunk into his bed, the mattress remembering his weight, and curled into a ball around one of his pillows. _Okay. You’re tired. It’s okay to rest now._

He slept. Until an hour and fifteen minutes later, when a car backfiring outside his window tore him back into reality by the hair.

_GUN. GUN. SOMEONE’S HURT SOMEONE’S SHOT GOTTA HELP GOTTA_

He was on his feet in an instant, scrambling onto the fire escape in his pajama bottoms, and was halfway down when he realized that there was an echo. A car. It was just a car.

He stayed awake just in case it wasn’t.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little intense. Also Matt has a fucked up kidney and all it entails. Forgive me.

Foggy called at eight. “Hey, buddy! Did I wake you?”

“No. What’s up?” Matt kneaded both burning eyes with his finger and thumb, barely registering Foggy’s voice over the phone. He’d spent most of the night pacing through his apartment, eventually sitting down to nurse his bruised torso and arms around five.

“I hope you got a good night’s sleep because I got a meeting with Patterson! He called me last night. Apparently the police found something in his kid’s apartment and he’s ready to talk.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really! We’re meeting him at ten!”

“That’s great, Foggy. Do you want me to meet you at the office now?”

“Yeah. You feeling a little better today?”

Matt ran his thumb over the bruises on his sternum, winced. “Yep. I’ll see you in fifteen.”

“Matt.” Foggy’s voice was full of concern when he stepped through the threshold of the office. “You went out last night.” It wasn’t a question. Matt shrugged.

“Dude, your lip is _busted_. You can’t go to a meeting looking like you got socked in the jaw.”

“What do you want me to do?” Matt snapped, and he felt Foggy withdraw.

“Um, maybe not get your ass kicked when we’re in the middle of an important case?”

“I didn’t get my ass kicked.”

“It’s gonna look that way to Patterson. C’mon dude, I know you. Talk to me.”

“I’m fine.” This Matt said through gritted teeth. “I just misjudged, that’s all. I’ll wear something over my face if that’s what you want.”

“Okay, stop. I wasn’t trying to make you mad. I’m just… you’re going out an awful lot. You look exhausted.”

“I’m. Fine.”

“No, you’re not, Matt.” Foggy’s heart was speeding up, his concern tinging the air. “You’re having nightmares again. You need to rest.” He was reaching out to touch Matt’s arm and Matt pulled away like he’d been burned.

“Leave me alone.”

“Matty…”

“Don’t call me that. Just leave me alone.” His voice was starting to break. _Don’t cry. Stop crying._

“Matty, please.” Now Foggy sounded like he was on the verge of tears. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Matt practically sprinted into his office before the dam could burst. _You’re weak. Stop crying._ He faintly heard Foggy knocking on his door around the frantic contractions of his lungs. _If you start crying you won’t stop._ Matt wanted to crawl under his desk like a child and cover his ears. He wished Foggy would stop knocking.

“You can hear my heartbeat, right?” Foggy yelled through the door. “You know what it sounds like when I’m telling the truth. And the truth is that you’re a huge pain in my ass and sometimes I want to drop kick you down a bunch of stairs but you’re my best friend and I care about you more than probably anyone and you’re scaring me. So would you _please_ open the door?”

Matt did not open the door. “I’m sorry,” he said to the knob.

“What?”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because… I don’t know. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“Are you sorry enough to open the door?”

“Can we please just do it this way?”

“You want me to keep yelling at your office like an asshole?”

“Yes.”

Foggy sighed. “Okay, okay. The meeting’s in an hour. You gonna come out for that?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to leave you alone til then?”

Matt swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes.”

There was a pause. “Okay. You won’t do anything crazy in there, right?”

“Promise.”

Foggy stood outside the office door for a moment before making his way to his own office, and it was only then that Matt could get himself together. _Matty. Matty._

Stick had his moments. Aside from the obvious, he pulled Matt’s world together one piece at a time. First his senses, then his rage, then his anxious, confused body. Stick popped countless joints back into place, got Matt out of the orphanage, kept him from rotting slowly in his room. Matt should have been thankful. He should have been better.

There was something about being fifteen pounds underweight that made winters in Hell’s Kitchen unbearable. The orphanage was crawling with sick kids, the basement completely uninsulated, and Matt’s health disintegrated before mid-October. He dragged himself to school with chills and a throat so swollen he could barely speak and when Stick came to fetch him for his lesson after he didn’t show, Matt was curled up so tightly under the blankets on his bed that it took him a solid five minutes to uncoil.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Matt sniffled, rubbed at his aching eyes. “I’m sick.”

“I know that. What I’m asking pertains more to the lesson you’re currently skipping.”

Matt drew the covers around his trembling body. “I don’t feel well. Can’t we do it tomorrow?”

“I see. You think this is optional. You think you have a choice. Soldiers don’t get a choice, Matty.”

“I’m not a soldier.”

“Yes, you are. Now get up.”

“I can’t.”

“Get up.”

Matt lasted forty five minutes. The basement was so cold that his knuckles turned purple around the spots of white where bones pressed against skin. His brain, already disoriented from the flu, was thrown off balance by the series of quick jabs Stick threw at him and he could barely keep his feet, much less retaliate.

“Come on, Matty. Control yourself.”

“I can’t.” His eyes were getting hot, his breath coming in heaving coughs.

“You can’t or you won’t? Your mind is stronger than this.”

“I…” Matt’s inner ear gave and the ground rushed up to meet him very quickly. He became vaguely aware of Stick poking him with his cane and curled up like a pillbug to protect his head and belly. The next thing he knew, someone was placing a wet towel on the back of his neck.

“Stick?” He tried to roll over, but his body didn’t seem interested.

“No, dear.” _One of the nuns_ , Matt thought. _Sister… Katherine?_

“What happened?” His tongue felt thick and lifeless in his mouth.

“You’re ill. You fell asleep a little after school. Your… teacher suggested we check on you.”

The pillow was burning Matt’s cheek. _He stopped the lesson?_

“You’ve got a fever. I’ve got some Tylenol and water for you.”

_He’s never done that before. Why did he stop?_

“Thank you.” Matt struggled to sit up before swallowing both pills and draining the glass of water.

“Probably for the best if you stay in bed for a while. Don’t want the flu to knock us all out.”

“I’m okay,” Matt said, and Sister Katherine shook her head.

“Rest. You look like you need it.”  
  


 

The meeting with Patterson did not go as expected. Despite the fact that his son was the prime suspect in an arson case, he wasn’t particularly interested in making a deal.

“I’m only here because if Mr. Nelson calls me one more time I will have no choice but to personally strangle him” was the first thing he said when Matt opened the door. “Now let’s get this over with.”

“Mr. Patterson.” Foggy raised his hand to shake, but Patterson just looked as Foggy had offered him a large leech. “So glad you decided to meet with us.”

“So glad you decided to harass me.”

“So glad your son decided to set a sweet Argentinian family’s house on-”

“Foggy.” His heart rate was ramping up and throwing around accusations wouldn’t help. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Patterson sneered. “Glad to see at least one of you has some manners. Let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? This is for you.” He handed a small piece of paper to Matt, who then passed it along to Foggy.

Foggy stared at it for a long time before speaking.

“Are you trying to bribe us?”

“I’m simply attempting to bring you onto the right side of justice. Anything those Argentinians are paying is nothing. Represent my son in court and it’s yours.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I know a pair of ambulance chasers when I see them.”

Matt could hear Foggy’s words before he said them. “Get out.”

“Excuse me?” Patterson’s oily voice faltered.

“Get out of my office. Get out of my fucking office before I break your neck.”

“Did you just threaten me?”

There was the sound of ripping paper. “We don’t want your money. Get out of my office or I’ll call the police.”

Patterson turned to look at Matt. “You’d better talk some sense into your partner. He can’t just go spouting off…”

“I think you’d better leave.” There was something in Matt’s voice that made Patterson draw back.

“Consider my offer,” he said while making for the door and Matt had to place himself between Foggy and the man’s retreating back to keep his friend from launching himself through the glass.

“That motherfucker.” Foggy stooped to pick pieces of the check off the floor.

“Easy, big guy.”

“Don’t call me big guy, I’m genuinely nettled.”

“Guys?” Karen’s voice came from the kitchenette. “Everything okay?”

“Something like that!” Foggy yelled and Karen appeared in the doorway a moment later.

“I heard shouting.”

“There was indeed shouting on account of Patterson being a dickhole.” Foggy picked up the baseball from his desk and started bouncing it off the wall. “He tried to bribe us.”

“What, to drop the case?”

“To pick up his kid’s case. Greasy fuck.”

“How much was the check for, out of curiosity?” Karen asked.

“A lot. But here at Nelson and Murdock featuring Page, we can’t be bought except for that one time.”

Matt laughed in spite of himself and both Foggy and Karen perked up.

“He can laugh! His sense of humor has returned, praise the Lord,” Foggy said and Matt ducked his head, embarrassed.

“Oh, c’mon. It’s good to hear you laugh.” Foggy’s arm snaked around Matt’s shoulders. “Also, if that asshole comes in here again, promise you won’t hold me back.”

“Promise.”

There was no point in trying to get to bed early that night. Matt was full of reckless energy, his exhaustion briefly pushed aside by the meeting. Besides, he was so close to the heart of the drug cartel and the information might go sour if he waited too long. He could sleep when he got home.

The leader of the cartel--known only to Matt by his street name-- lived in a lavish apartment a few blocks outside of Hell’s Kitchen and Matt made it onto the balcony before midnight. Even through the sliding glass doors, he could smell mint and honey and black tar heroin. Luxury buildings usually cleaned the carpets well between tenants but it was impossible scrub the tang out of the walls. Matt pressed himself against the bricks outside the apartment, his senses overstimulated from lack of sleep, and listened. Someone on the second floor was crying while the couple next door lay in bed and talked about the baby they were going to have. A cat meowed from the alley.

“He’s outside.” A rush of smells: grass, blood, vanilla ice cream. Matt doubled over as if he’d been punched in the gut. _He’s not here. He can’t be here. Get to the roof._

Stick’s voice, like the smell of his clothes, was unmistakable. _What is he doing in Hell’s Kitchen? Why’s he in El Jefe’s apartment?_ Matt swallowed a gag as he clambered onto the next balcony and then the roof. _No no no no no_

He hadn’t seen Stick in two decades and now he was in New York for the second time in a year? Something was wrong and Matt couldn’t help but think about Stick’s hands dragging him off the roof and through all six balconies. _This has nothing to do with you. Go._

“Matty.” Someone had stepped onto El Jefe’s balcony. “Matty, why don’t you come down here and say hello.”

Every cell screamed for him to run, but Matt remained where he was. Suddenly, he was a scared kid in bed waiting for the sun to rise.

“Matthew. You’ve done all this work and now you don’t want to reap your rewards? Get off the roof.” Stick’s tone never faltered from that of pure condescension. It was getting harder to breathe around the lump in his throat.

“What are you doing here?” he managed.

“Business, same as you. Though I’d expected to see you sooner. There’s a sniper in the apartment across from us in case something like this happened. If you don’t get down here in the next ten seconds, he’ll blow a hole in your chest. Now do it.”

Matt crawled down both balconies, trying desperately to control his heart, until he was standing in front of Stick.

“Of course you got a costume. Come inside. El Jefe is eager to meet the man who’s been giving him so much trouble.”

“I…” Matt’s head swam with scent memories and the clink of ice inside a glass as someone poured a drink.

“The Daredevil. My pleasure.” A new voice came from the corner of the room, shrouded in mint. “I’ve heard so much about you. My employees have such interesting things to say. Except of course for the one whose windpipe you crushed.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to confront El Jefe on his own. Stick’s presence turned his bowels to water.

“I’m sure he’s very sorry. And I’m also sure he won’t be interfering with your transactions again, won’t you?”

Another second and Matt’s training took over. A bullet whizzed over his head as he lunged for Stick, who in turn aimed a kick to Matt’s kidney. The blow wasn’t enough to fracture it, but Matt felt the bruise seconds after Stick’s foot landed. His ribs and arms were still so sore from patrolling the previous nights and Stick, taking advantage of his obvious exhaustion, swept Matt’s legs out from under him and pinned him against the floor. The back of Matt’s head knocked against the wood panels and the world swam sickly for a moment before he got his bearings.

The shape from the corner of the room moved until it was hovering over both of them. “That’s enough,” El Jefe said, and the cold barrel of a gun found its way under Matt’s chin. “Step aside. I can finish this.”

Stick said nothing, just removed his knee from the center of Matt’s chest and in that moment Matt grabbed El Jefe’s shoulder and popped it messily from its socket, causing him to fire a round deep into the floorboards. Stick didn’t try to stop him as he flung off the cartel leader and staggered to his feet.

“See you soon, Matty,” he said, voice low under El Jefe’s shriek of pain, and Matt tore out of the apartment as fast as his body would allow.

He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t go to sleep even if he was able to. _Stick was coming, Stick would find him, Stick would…_ Matt had to stop six blocks from the apartment to catch his breath and force down the dinner that was threatening to make a reappearance. _You’re okay. You’re okay. Drop the suit off and then go._

He went to Josie’s without Foggy for the first time, swallowed four fingers of whiskey and prayed that no one would notice the ring of blood left in the urinal after he went to the bathroom. _You’re okay. No hospitals. Don’t go home. Don’t go home._

At four in the morning, he staggered to the office and curled up on the floor wrapped in his jacket. _It’s okay. You’re okay. Don’t go to sleep._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy finds Matt curled up in the office and decides to take him home for some rest. Absolute fluff.

Someone was coming. Matt could smell them before he heard them: laundry detergent and perfume and the vague scent of sex. He stiffened against the leg of his desk. What time was it? He couldn’t recall closing his eyes, much less falling asleep. He fumbled for his watch. _8:45._

The cloud of clean laundry and pheromones drew closer to the office door and unlocked it humming. Matt tried to get up but raked his back against the edge of the desk and a hot wave of pain forced him down again. He began parsing through the pain, taking inventory of the sore spots on his body. Head, ribs, right kidney. His mouth felt as if it was full of cotton.

“Matt?” The fragrant cloud just said his name. Had he left something out in the main office? His brain was two steps slower than his body, which wanted nothing more than to remain against his desk for the rest of recorded time, and he didn’t even look up when someone opened his office door.

“Oh my _god_.” In hindsight, he must have looked terrible, slumped against his desk in a hoodie with his coat pulled tightly over his torso. Thank god he’d left his glasses on.

“Matt, what happened?” Foggy knelt next to him and with a supreme effort Matt lifted his head.

“Had a little too much to drink,” he ground out. “Came back here.”

“You’re bleeding.” Foggy touched the side of Matt’s head and he winced. “How long have you been here? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Four, I think.” Feeling crept back into his limbs and as he woke up one zone at a time, the roiling pain in his head worsened.

“Jesus, Matt. How much did you have to drink?”

Matt lifted four fingers, went to rest the back of his head against the desk until a sharp pain shot through his scalp upon contact.

“You went out last night. Why didn’t you call someone?”

Matt said nothing. His stomach was starting to churn now too and he rested a palm against it, trying to force the pain back.

“Dude.” Foggy sounded more scared than angry. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“Just now.”

“No, I mean in a bed for longer than two hours.”

Matt winced. “Monday.”

“Matt, it’s Friday morning. You haven’t slept since Monday?”

Matt shook his head, then stopped abruptly as the room bucked around him.

“Okay, that’s it. Let’s get you home.”

“No!” The sleepy fog bricked around Matt’s brain cleared. “I can’t go home.”

“Why can’t you… you know what? I don’t even want to know. We’ll go to my apartment then. It’s closer.” He hooked an arm around Matt’s shoulders and tried to haul him up by his armpits. “God, work with me here.”

“No. No, Foggy.”

“No Foggy what?”

“It’s not safe.”

“What’s not safe? My apartment?”

“It’s not safe for me to be there. Not safe for you.” Matt’s tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva to keep from throwing up.

“Why not? Dude, you can barely sit up. Why wouldn’t it be safe for me at my own place?”

“Stick.”

Foggy’s heart rate spiked. “Your teacher?”

Matt took a breath, tried to block out the increasing pain in his head and back. “Yeah.”

“He’s here?”

“Yeah.”

“What does he want?”

Another labored breath. “Dunno.”

“Where did you see him?”

“I was tracking the leader of a drug cartel. He was in his apartment.”

“Did he do this to you?”

Matt swallowed thickly. “Yeah.” He could hear the muscles in Foggy’s jaw tense.

“And you think he’ll be waiting for you if you go home?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’m taking you to my place.”

“Foggy…”

“He doesn’t know who I am or where I live. You’ll be safe there and if he comes around I’ll beat him to death with a baseball bat.”

“He’ll put you in the ICU.”

“I don’t give a fuck. C’mon, let’s go.” He reached for Matt’s shoulders again and this time was able to haul him to his feet. Matt swayed slightly, leaning on Foggy for support.

“Jeez, you’re not gonna put up more of a fight? You must be exhausted.”

Matt just grunted, shifting his weight onto Foggy’s side. “Maybe I am.”

A rush of warm air grazed Matt’s face as Foggy opened the door to his apartment and instead of the smell of grass and ice cream his paranoia expected, he breathed in fresh cotton and Marci’s perfume.

“Marci was here?”

“I’m not even gonna ask how you know that. But yeah. She stayed over last night. Go sit down on the couch. I’m gonna call Karen and tell her to take the day.”

Matt stumbled a little as Foggy let go of his shoulders, but he made his way to the sofa and lowered his sore body onto it with a groan. Far away, Foggy was speaking softly about how he spent the whole night up with a cough and that it would probably be best for them all to work from home.

“Do you need me to bring anything? Did you call Matt?” Karen said, voice cloudy over the phone, and Foggy assured her that he was fine and that Matt would also be staying home. Matt slouched deep into the cushions, his head still pounding. He lifted a hand to the back of his skull and pulled away gritty blood half-congealed in his hair.

“Dude, don’t pick at it. You’re gonna make it worse.” Foggy sat down on the couch. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. You go take a shower and I’ll make us some breakfast, okay?”

Matt’s stomach squirmed. “I’m not hungry.”

“Yeah, you’re hungover, I know. But you’ll feel a lot better with something in you. Toast, at least.”

Matt grumbled, drew his body tightly together. His back whined.

“Does that sound like a plan?” Foggy asked, still waiting for an answer. “You know where the bathroom is. I’ve got shampoo and soap on the counter. No spare toothbrushes though, sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“And don’t you dare try to shave. You’ll cut your nose off.”

“You sound like your mother.”

Foggy snorted. “Good, that must mean I care about you or something. Go clean up. I’ve got some old sweats that might fit you.”

There was something wrong with Matt’s senses. He nearly ran into the door frame on his way into the bathroom and once he finally closed it behind him, the smell of perfume was so strong he couldn’t think straight.

 _Okay. Clothes._ He pulled his t-shirt over his head-- briefly enveloped in the smell of sweat and blood-- and fumbled with the button on his jeans. His fingers felt like swollen sausages.

The water stung like needles on his aching back and side and Matt whimpered in spite of himself, clutching his arms around his belly. Good thing Foggy didn’t have super hearing, or he would have been able to tell how close Matt was to crying. He hadn’t cried since their fight, not even when Fisk had nearly beaten him dead, and the pressure became almost unbearable when Stick called for him from the balcony. _Don’t cry. Not now. Not here._

Matt scrubbed his fingers through his hair and caught the edge of the wound in his scalp with his nails. That was it. That split second of pain was enough to send him over the edge and into a ball on the floor of the shower. He crammed his fist into his mouth to quiet the howl of misery threatening to pour out and pulled his legs in close.

 _Stop crying. You’re pathetic. You’re weak. Stop crying. Stop it now._ The voice in his head was sounding more and more like Stick’s and Matt buried his face in his knees, rocking back and forth under the hot water like a child. All the stress and scent memories and the complaints of his overtaxed body rushed over him at once and he sobbed. It took him fifteen minutes before his eyes hurt too much to continue and even then he was unable to get up off the shower floor. With a deep, shuddering breath, Matt ran his fingers through his hair and over his shoulders. _You’re okay. It’s okay now. Breathe. You’re okay._

“Feel better?” Foggy asked from his place on the couch when Matt emerged swaddled in his sweats twenty minutes later. Matt opened his mouth to respond, thought better of it and nodded. If Foggy knew he’d been crying, he didn’t mention it.

“I see you found the clothes. They fit you okay?”

Matt tugged at the waistband of Foggy’s sweatpants, drawstrings pulled so tightly around his slim hips that the fabric bunched. “They’re a little big.”

“Yeah, duh. I know you like my hoodies though.”

Matt crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Yeah. They smell like you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. C’mere. I made you some tea.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“You look like death. I know it’ll calm you down a little, make it easier for you to get to sleep. I’ve got some eggs and toast too.”

“Thanks, Foggy.”

The mug was warm in Matt’s hands and each bite of scrambled eggs seemed to fill the hole in him that crying had left. Foggy fussed over the cuts on Matt’s head and arms, sitting close but not crowding him, and the combination of his voice and the sweats and the gentle hum of the radiator was starting to quiet Matt’s brain.

“You got any other lacerations I should know about?”

“I got hit in the kidney but it’s not fractured.”

“Jesus, Matt. How could you possibly know that?”

“I know what it sounds like when someone’s kidney breaks.”

“How do you… you know what? I didn’t even know you could fracture a kidney and I don’t want to think about it for any longer than I have to. Just don’t expire on my couch, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Was that a smile? Did you just crack a smile? Does that mean I’m doing something right?”

“Yes, Foggy. This is definitely something right.”

“Do you wanna do something else right and watch a movie?”

“Yeah.”

“So… Hot Fuzz?”

Matt groaned. “Haven’t you seen Hot Fuzz like ten million times?”

“It’s the best one out of the Cornetto trilogy and you know it.”

“Better than Shawn of the Dead?”

“Yes, Matt. As someone who can’t even see the zombies, you should know that Hot Fuzz is better than Shawn of the Dead.”

“You’re going to have to describe it to me.”

“Matt. Matthew. My commentary is the best part of Hot Fuzz. You _know_ this.”

Matt shrugged. “Hot Fuzz it is then.”

“Yes! Okay, scoot over.”

A half hour into the movie and Matt was beginning to feel the effects that a shower and hot tea tend to have on someone who hasn’t slept all week. He yawned and Foggy paused his blow-by-blow description to place a throw pillow in his lap.

“C’mere. Put your head down.”

“Where? In your lap?”

“Yes, in my lap. You think Goose never let Maverick put his head in his lap when he was tired? I have a truly exquisite lap. Put your head down.”

Matt obeyed and after a few minutes Foggy’s fingers wandered to his hair, tangling themselves in it until Matt was on the verge of sleep. He closed his eyes and became vaguely aware of Foggy pausing the movie.

“Bedtime?”

“Noooo…” Matt mumbled, pressing his face into Foggy’s stomach.

“Why not?”

“Bad dreams.”

Foggy sighed. “Okay. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll put you to bed and if you have a nightmare I’ll wake you up just like in college, okay?”

“Nooooo…”

“Matt, you’re like two neurons away from being totally checked out. You need some sleep. C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

Matt was too tired to need much convincing. He tried to sit up but instead Foggy hooked his arms under Matt’s body and carried him into his bedroom.

“God, you’re thin. Marci weighs more than you. Remind me to tell Karen to bring more donuts to work next week.”

“Mm… remember donuts,” Matt said, burying his face in Foggy’s shoulder.

“Yes, thank you. Okay, here’s the bed. Let go of me.”

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m not gonna leave. Here.” Foggy placed Matt gently onto the bed and pulled the comforter over him before getting in himself. “See? I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here if you need me. Just go to sleep.”

“Stick…” Matt said, rolling over to face Foggy. “He’s gonna find me.”

“Not right now, buddy. You’re safe, okay?” Foggy’s fingers traced Matt’s hairline, kneading behind his ears until he relaxed. “You’re safe right here. Nothing will happen to you as long as I’m here. Now get some rest.”

Matt slept and for the first time in a long time, he slept dreamlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. You can fracture a kidney. It almost happened to me and that shit hurts.  
> 2\. Hot Fuzz is a great movie and you know Foggy would love it because it's great


	5. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I know this has been finished for a while but it never really felt "done" to me so I added a little ending just to give some closure. This bit is from Foggy's point of view since Matt is passed out. I hope it doesn't feel unnecessary.

Foggy spent the next two hours lying in bed, watching Matt breathe, waiting for him to suddenly jolt into a nightmare. His friend looked so small, curled up around his pillow like a child, and Foggy took this opportunity to take stock of Matt’s injuries. He knew about the kidney and the lacerations on his head, but what else had he been through? Against his better judgement, Foggy gently pulled back the blanket.

Oh,  _ Matt.  _ Just from the little sliver of skin showing from under his sweatshirt, Matt’s sides were peppered with bruises in various stages of healing. He curled in over his ribs, exposing his back, and as far as Foggy could tell, Matt’s body was indistinguishable from a punching bag that could bleed.

“I’m so sorry, buddy,” Foggy said, pulling the covers back over Matt, who shifted a little in his sleep. “I should have noticed sooner.” He placed a hand on the back of Matt’s neck, rubbing slowly until Matt settled back into sleep. He must have been ready to drop when Foggy found him. Never again, Foggy thought. I’ll never let it get this bad again.

By the third hour, something was wrong. Not with Matt, who was still dead to the world, but with the apartment .Foggy couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a threat looming just outside his windows. With some reluctance, he untangled himself from the sheets and went into the living room.  _ Close the blinds. Get your bat. Matt said Stick could find him and like hell am I letting him get close. _

Foggy swept through his apartment like a hurricane, locking his windows and door before digging through his closet for a weapon. A kitchen knife would require him to get close to the bastard, and Foggy wasn’t exactly built for close quarters combat. Better just stick with his softball bat.

As he was closing the door, however, his eyes fell on the shoebox tucked away in the corner. After Matt’s confession, Foggy, in a blind drunken rage, stumbled into a hunting superstore and bought a .22 Smith and Wesson. He’d fired a gun exactly once in his life, on the range with his father, and the noise and the smell of the metal was enough to put him off shooting forever. But Matt… Matt was involved with things Foggy couldn’t even imagine. Matt put himself and Foggy and Karen in danger and Foggy couldn’t fight off a horde of ninjas with a fucking softball bat. So he bought the gun. He learned how to load it and how to turn the safety off and then promptly tossed it in a shoebox in the back of his closet, where it stayed for months. Foggy couldn’t imagine firing it at a duck, much less an actual person, but Stick sounded like a worthy target. Foggy knelt in the closet and opened the box. The gun lay as pristine as a diamond necklace. Foggy fumbled to load it, making sure that the safety was on, and after some consideration set it on his kitchen table. If Matt woke up, he could throw it in a drawer or something.

Foggy found himself wandering back into the bedroom-- softball bat held loosely at his side-- and paused in the doorway. All he could see of Matt was a shock of dark red hair over the covers.

“Buddy?” Foggy approached the bed. Matt hadn’t moved an inch since he left. He couldn’t read heartbeats, but he was pretty sure Matt wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.

“Okay. Stay like that.” Against his better judgement, Foggy dropped a kiss on the crown of Matt’s head, careful to avoid the cuts in his scalp, and went into the kitchen to wait for Stick.

It took him another hour to show up, and when he did, he announced himself with a knock on the door. Foggy, who’d been wondering whether or not he was just being paranoid, jumped at the sound and immediately reached for the gun. Holding it aloft, he peered through the peephole in his door. An old man with dead eyes peered back at him.

“Who the fuck are you?” Foggy asked.

“You know who I am. Are you going to let me in or do I have to break this door down?” Stick’s voice dripped with contempt.

“Matt’s not here. If you want him, you’ll have to go somewhere else.”

“I can hear his heartbeat. You have him in the room adjacent to this one. He’s weak. It’s unlikely he can fight me off in this state.”

“Get the fuck out of my building or I’ll call the police.”

“I need to speak with-”

“You heard me. I’m armed.”

“Let me finish. This is a matter of importance.”

“Get the fuck away from us.” Foggy’s heart was in his throat. “I know what you did to him.”

“I turned him into a man.”

“You turned him into a  _ soldier _ . He was just a little kid! He doesn’t sleep, he barely eats. You might as well have killed him.”

Stick mused for a moment. “He was weak. Always relying on other people.”

“No.” Foggy tried to keep his voice from shaking. “You’re weak. There’s nothing wrong with needing people. And if you want him, you’ll have to go through me.”

Stick paused. “You love him.”

This caught Foggy off guard. “What?”

“You love him. I can hear it in your voice. But let me make one thing very clear. If you stay with him, you will suffer and die. He breeds nothing but disappointment.”

“No.”  _ He breeds light. _

“Suit yourself. I’ll be back for him. Tell him what I said.”

“Eat shit.”

Stick huffed. “That’s fair.”

Foggy stayed pressed against the door until he heard Stick’s footsteps fading down the stairs, and then he slid to the floor.

“Fuck.”

“Foggy?” A sleepy voice came from his bedroom and Foggy practically flung the gun across the room in surprise. “Foggy, you still here?”

“Yeah, buddy, I’m here.” He got to his feet and went back into the bedroom, where Matt’s face was still pressed against the pillow, his eyes barely open. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Matt shook his head no. “‘M cold. Thought you left.”

“Of course not, Matt. Here, I’ll warm you up.” Foggy’s heart was still beating so fast he could barely feel it, but he climbed into bed and pulled the covers over both of them. “Just go back to sleep, okay?”

“Mm… don’t leave.” Matt’s eyes drifted closed as he pressed his face against Foggy’s chest.

“I’m right here. I’m not gonna leave you.”

Matt yawned. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry, buddy. Everything’s okay. You’re safe here.”

Matt made a concerned little sigh before his breathing slowed again. Foggy wrapped his arms around his friend, pulling him close.

“I’ve got you,” he said into Matt’s hair. “I won’t let anything happen. I’ve got you, Matt.” And he lay there, shaking from the conversation, until the lull of Matt’s breath brought his heartbeat back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a. Foggy swears like a sailor when he's mad  
> b. I'm sorry I'm mattfoggy trash


End file.
